Monday, June 25, 2012

deep and recessed, in those dark, lonely places


I've been dreaming about my grandfather lately. A lot. Pleasant dreams. I see him smiling, in his 60's, looking happy. But I wake up sad. It's all this pent up guilt or whatever coming up, this whole I could have done more, should have done more. And then this whole thing, this whole wine nonsense doesn't mean a goddamn thing because I didn't so much as cook for him once, or even share a drink.

We all have regrets, things that don't normally come up when we're busy in our daily routines. But I've been reflecting lately, particularly on what my next steps are, in my career and in my life. It's tragic that when I had the chance to be together with him, I was too young, too much of a child to appreciate it. And now where am I going to drink with him . . . over his tombstone?

These moments in time are fleeting and precious. I'm not going to get mine back, but if I could . . . all I want, all I really want, is to share a bottle of old Shaoxing wine, a plate of his favourite lake shrimps, and a chance for me to tell him how much he meant to me.


No comments:

Post a Comment